The city streets opened before Vergil as if the architecture itself were discreetly rearranging itself to receive him.
Blue lanterns of fire tilted as he passed.
Stone gargoyles moved their heads to follow him with their eyes.
The mana of the territory vibrated beneath his feet like a giant, submissive heart.
Katharina and Roxanne followed close behind, absorbing every detail—and there were a hell of a lot of details.
The city seemed to have been designed by someone obsessed with grandeur, gothic aesthetics, and the dangerous idea that Vergil deserved a level of reverence that not even Hell dared to give.
When they finally turned onto a street as wide as a fortress corridor, the trio stopped.
Not because they wanted to.
But because it was impossible not to stop.
Before them stood… the castle.
And calling it a castle was almost an insult.
It was a monolith of power.
A colossus of living obsidian.
A structure so immense it seemed to tear the sky in two.
